"Tell Navigation to hold course," McPartland said calmly. Something in his voice super-charged the already taut atmosphere of the Control Room, bringing an eager smile to the face of Engineer McTavish.
As though in response, the visa-phone hummed, and its screen glowed. The image formed was a young officer, an officer with a wisp of blond mustache and a pale face forced into disciplined blankness by a straining will.
Some of the weariness left the younger man's haunted eyes as he saluted Captain McPartland. He spoke, his lips moving rapidly, but the words were gibberish.
"Radio, scramble for ship code," Lieutenant-Commander Clemens said into the intra-ship. He turned to the Captain. "I hope they have the right code, Sir."
"—extreme emergency, Sir," came the voice of the officer from Mars Base. "Deemed it advisable to use code."
"Very commendable, Mister," McPartland acknowledged, tersely. "My compliments to the Admiral, and may I speak to him at once."
"I'm sorry, Sir," said the other, "the Admiral is at Terra Base with the major fleet units. I am Lieutenant Browne, commanding."
"Commanding!" exploded Jon. "Then the base must be almost empty!"
"There is only a maintenance crew here," admitted the Lieutenant wearily, and added defensively, "It's the same at Jupiter Base, Sir.